“You can make any changes you wish.” Kiss.
“Thank you, but I love everything exactly as it is.” Kiss.
“You will stay with me each night?” Kiss.
“Forever, and all day, too, until you are sick of me.” Kiss.
“That will never happen!” Kiss.
“I can be annoying at times.” Kiss.
“Do you truly think me a baby?” Kiss.
“Only occasionally, beloved, and in the most endearing way. Now hush and kiss me!”
Darcy complied with abundant enthusiasm. Elizabeth unbuttoned Darcy’s waistcoat, ran her hands up his chest, and then moved her fingers to his cravat and began working the knots. With immeasurable strength of will, he stayed her hands. With a heavy sigh and a groan, he took a step back and in a trembling voice whispered, “I must be insane!” He ran a hand over his face. “It is time to prepare for dinner, beloved. God knows it is the last thing I wish to do right now, but we should.” He stated sarcastically, “I am attempting to employ some of that maturity and wisdom you alluded to.”
She chuckled shakily and fought against an excruciating urge to overpower his “wisdom and maturity,” positive he would capitulate. She managed to behave, though, and they parted reluctantly to their respective dressing rooms.
It took a bit of time for her to figure out how to ring for Marguerite. While she waited, she further inspected the room, opening the many drawers on the vanity and discovering numerous items that had not previously belonged to her. Among the treasures were tiny notes written in Darcy’s hand with phrases such as: “Because I love you” or “They sparkled like your eyes” or “It matches your green gown” or “I adore you in red.”
A box next to the vase of flowers had a card with “To my wife, my matchless pearl” written on it. She hesitated, but curiosity overcame her so she opened it. Inside rested a spectacular strand of pearls. Elizabeth collapsed onto the bench, too overcome with all that had happened since she arrived at Pemberley to think clearly. Marguerite entered moments later to encounter her mistress motionless and staring off into space.
“Madame, are you well?”
“What? Oh, yes. Forgive me, Marguerite; I am simply feeling a bit overwhelmed.”
“I understand, Mistress. If I may suggest a bath? I know that always brightens my spirits.”
A half hour later, Elizabeth was dressed and feeling her old self again. She was well aware of why her husband had a penchant for her and pearls, so she decided to wear the gown she had worn at the Netherfield Ball and she requested Marguerite adorn her hair with a pearl-encrusted comb she found in the vanity and, naturally, she wore the necklace. As a final touch she nestled a sprig of lavender and a single white rose between her breasts.
Darcy was awaiting her in his sitting room, which she had not yet viewed. Her eyes were only for her husband, however. Why was it that she still found herself dazzled by how handsome he was? She supposed it was because of her initial reaction to him, that his attractiveness had been marred by a ridiculing, forbidding countenance and a disagreeable nature. What a fool I was! she thought, not for the first time.
The fiery expression crossing his visage left no doubt of his opinion of her ensemble. His provocative eyes ranged leisurely down her body and her heart instantly began beating erratically. He walked to her slowly, a sensual smile on his lips. He stopped before her and delicately touched her skin just below the necklace.
“These were my mother’s,” he said, eyes on the pearls and the neck they graced. “I knew they would be beautiful on you.” His fingers moved lightly across her collar and along her shoulder, and then grazed the edge of her gown until reaching the flowers. He met her eyes with one brief, smoldering gaze, and then lowered his face to the flowers. He inhaled their scent, warm breath tickling her skin, and then placed two soft kisses onto the tender flesh on either side of the corsage.
If his sturdy arm had not encircled her waist, Elizabeth was certain she would have fallen. “William,” she whispered, almost pleading, arms already around his neck, fingers in his hair.
He was studying her face with its half-opened eyes and parted lips. “You are so beautiful, my Lizzy. I love you so!” The following kiss was encompassing and demanding.
They were lost and they both knew it. Passion had overtaken them and dinner was completely forgotten. Luckily, or unluckily, Darcy’s valet chose that precise moment to knock on the door announcing that dinner was served. Even so, it seemed forever before they came to their senses. Darcy cleared his throat huskily before calling out that they would be right down.
He closed his eyes and rested his forehead on hers, moving his hands to her waist regretfully and with a struggle. “I require a moment,” he stated flatly.
Lizzy glanced to the front of his breeches and smiled. Her arousal was indisputably intense but without the visible physical ramifications.
Dinner was served in the smaller of the two dining rooms that Pemberley had. (Elizabeth would discover this fact later.) It was the same room she had dined in with her aunt and uncle. They were both quite hungry, luncheon having been a basket shared in the carriage hours ago.
They were mounting the stairs to return to their room when Mr. Keith appeared. “Mr. Darcy,” he bowed. “My apologies, Sir and Madame. Mr. Darcy, there is a matter of some urgency. Forgive me for interrupting but I fear it cannot wait.”
“Of course, Mr. Keith. Allow me to escort Mrs. Darcy to her rooms, and I shall meet you in my study momentarily.”
They proceeded up the stairs. “Do you think it serious, William?” Elizabeth asked.
“I hope not. However, Mr. Keith is not an alarmist and would not disturb me today of all days if it was not important. Do not fret, my love; I will return as soon as possible. If this matter demands my attention for any length of time, I will send word.” He kissed her at her door. “Wait for me,” he whispered, and then he was gone.
He was gone for more than an hour. He had sent word that he was needed at the stables and was unsure how long it would be. Elizabeth freshened up, donned another nightgown, and used her time to wander around the suite. She meandered about his dressing room, stunned at the quantity of clothing he possessed. His familiar scent permeated the air. The personal items on his dresser were arranged in perfect order, all of them dear to her because they were his. She impulsively grabbed one of his robes and put it on, wrapping herself in his scent and oddly comforted knowing that the soft fabric had touched his body.
She sat before the fire, reading for some time, but began to feel sleepy, so she went outside onto the balcony. The view was stupendous, even at night. The torches were still blazing, casting reflections over the water. She wished William were with her, yet her joy was such that she could not feel too depressed. It was a cold night, but Lizzy was warm in his robe. She sat down on the padded bench and contented herself with waiting.
Darcy returned in such a state of haste that he only paused long enough to allow Samuel to remove his boots, stockings, jacket, and waistcoat. He washed his face and hands quickly, splashed on a drop of cologne, and then rushed into their bedchamber, untucking his shirt as he went. Elizabeth was not there, but he saw the open balcony door.
“You are back!” she said happily. “Is everything all right?”
He bent down and kissed her lips. “Yes, it is now,” he replied. “One of my best broodmares was having a difficult birth. The foal survived, one of Parsifal’s many offspring, as a matter of fact. The mare, however, had to be put down. I hate having to do it, but on occasion it cannot be avoided.” He sighed sadly.
“I am sorry, William. I know how much your horses mean to you.”
“Thank you, my love. It is disturbing, but one of the unfortunate occurrences when one breeds horses, or any animal for that matter.” He shook his head. “Anyway, it’s done now. Why are you out here, Elizabeth? It’s quite cold.”
“Enjoying the view while I waited for you.” For a time they remained silent, both en
joying the breathtaking scenery. Elizabeth unconsciously began caressing his leg.
He looked down at her. “You are still wearing the pearls,” he noticed.
She smiled winsomely. “I like them. I thought you might enjoy seeing me wear them… and only them.”
He smiled one of his devastating smiles, glanced away briefly, and then sat beside her with long legs stretched on the opposite side from hers. He clasped her cool hands within his warm palms, and said, with his voice low and husky, “How are you faring this evening, my dearest?”
“Excellent, especially now that you are back with me.” She smiled, fingers interlacing with his and caressing tenderly. “It is so beautiful here, William. I feel at home already.”
“You are home, Mrs. Darcy. Forever Pemberley shall be where you belong.”
“I love hearing you call me ‘Mrs. Darcy.’ You say it with such tenderness and happiness.”
He laughed softly, his eyes sparkling. Reaching to feather strokes over one soft cheek, he whispered, “I am happy. Happier than I have ever been, and it is all due to your presence in my life, Mrs. Darcy.” He shook his head slightly. “I shall never tire of calling you such.” He leaned forward, kissing her nose lightly. “Always, eternally, my Mrs. Darcy.”
Lizzy exhaled a gentle laugh, closing her eyes and basking in the feel of his breath and warmth so near her face. Every sense was assaulted, tingling and alive as he bestowed tiny kisses on every feature, interspersing them with breathy endearments.
He paused and their eyes met. Her lips were parted and her breathing uneven, awaiting the pressure of his mouth upon hers. Surely she would die if he did not kiss her soon! He stroked her chin with his thumb, adoring the perfection of her face.
“Mrs. Darcy,” he whispered, so soft as to be almost inaudible, as with deliberate patience he slowly approached her mouth, kissing her with a nearly imperceptible touch. He lingered, lips feathering hers, taunting her with languid restraint. She pressed into him but he retreated slightly, maintaining a gentle pressure and movement on her mouth. She moaned and he smiled against her lips, delighting in the ability to inflame her. She wrapped her hands around his neck, pulling him to her while at the same time arching toward his chest.
Darcy committed all his energy to the pleasurable task of kissing his wife. He could feel the cold of the winter air seeping into him, but his lips were on fire. Her taste and moisture and warmth spread from his mouth to his heart and his soul. He teased her, evading her insistence, as he played with her sweet lips. He captured her upper lip and then her lower, tenderly sucking with his lips and then nipping slightly with his teeth. After a time he ever so lightly ran the tip of his tongue over her lower lip.
Lizzy’s hands had stilled in his hair, all her focus on the racing torrents of delight his mouth inspired. She had always adored his kisses and the sensations they stimulated, but this was altogether different. She moaned and sighed, heart beating erratically, yet she was paralyzed with the need to consign total attention to what he was doing to her. She was dizzy.
For what seemed like hours, he toyed with her, vacillating between faint maneuvers and enthusiastic provocations. His right hand continually stroked her jaw and cheek while his left tangled in her glistening hair, firmly clasping her head and neck to him. He probed every plane of her mouth—teeth, palate, inner lips, and cheeks—exploring leisurely and thoroughly. In a sudden burst of possessive passion, he groaned boomingly from deep in his chest and crushed her body to his chest, intensifying the kiss beyond description.
Eventually he pulled away, meeting her eyes with a burning stare. “Mrs. Darcy,” he croaked hoarsely, “my love, my wife. I so adore you!” He stood, bringing her with him, and then swept her into his arms. She buried her face into his neck, kissing softly.
Instead of laying her onto the bed as she expected, he stood her on her feet next to it. “Stay here,” he commanded. He crossed back to the door, latching it securely and pulling the curtains. Then he stoked the fire, adding another log to dispel the cold. Turning back to her, he walked slowly, stripping his shirt and tossing it randomly aside. “If Samuel knew how often my clothes have fallen to the floor in the past days, he would likely resign his post,” Darcy joked as he reached her.
Lizzy barely registered his words, so caught was she by the sight of him. She required no prior comparison to know with certainty that her husband’s figure was beyond gorgeous. His chest was broad with straight shoulders and defined muscles. Dark, thick hair lightly blanketed his upper torso, gathering densely over his sternum before trailing in a finger-width path down the solid planes of his abdomen to his groin. The bulging muscles of his arms and legs further aroused her. He was so brawny, so virile, and so utterly male. It intoxicated her. Like a magnet her hands moved to caress his milky skin, eyes windows to her devotion and craving.
Darcy was still, observing her with escalating ardency and satisfaction. He was not an egotistical man by nature. His frame was what it was, and he never gave significance to it. As long as his clothing fit well and he was lean and healthy, he was content. He certainly had been told he was handsome on many occasions, yet had assumed it was more a response to his wealth and station. No woman had ever seen his unclothed flesh, so he truly had not known what to anticipate. In these past two days of loving his wife and monitoring her reactions, he had recognized that her entrancement with his body was as profound as his was with hers. The surge of pride he felt was as much for his own ego as for his wish to please her.
Lizzy looked into his intense blue eyes and smiled shyly, a faint blush spreading over her cheeks as she continued her tactile investigation of his chest. “You endlessly chronicle how beautiful you find me,” she said quietly. “I have been too bashful to verbalize the same.” She paused as she stepped closer, holding his eyes with hers. “You are… stunning, Fitzwilliam. Hard and yet tender. Graceful and powerful. So invigorating, breathtakingly handsome and desirable to me. I love your heart and your soul, and will for all eternity, no matter what your appearance. However, I cannot deny the awesome effect your physical being has on my senses.” She finished her earnest speech by wrapping her arms about his waist, hands pressing into his back as she squeezed herself against him, hungrily seeking his mouth.
“My Lizzy,” he breathed as he kissed her. He held her tightly to him, caressing her back through her gown. His hands roamed all over her, removing his robe from her shoulders first, then slowly peeling the gauzy gown up and over her head as he stroked her satiny flesh. She shivered with delight, fire and ice piercing each nerve ending he touched.
He picked her up then, carrying her to their bed. “Elizabeth, my darling wife,” he whispered as he kissed the sensitive flesh behind her ear, “You are utterly miraculous, enthralling, bewitching, and so incredibly sensuous. You drive me wild with desire!”
His magic hands were everywhere at once, propelling her to a frenzied state of aching hunger. She pivoted to face him, flinging one leg over his hip and locking her foot behind his knee. He understood what she needed and was more than willing to comply. Leisurely, then with increasing ardor, they loved, attaining sweet glory in the embrace of the other.
“I love you; I love you,” his voice rasped as he inhaled roughly. “My sweet Lord, how I love you, Elizabeth!” He kissed her face, smoothing tangled hair from her eyes, before he moved to the side. Arms embracing, he nestled her to his heaving chest. “I do not know how I survived all these years without you,” he whispered.
“Nor I,” she answered sleepily, exhaustion and satiation overtaking her. Darcy smiled, releasing her only to cover them both and draw the bed curtains. Cuddling her closely, listening to her regular breathing, Darcy quickly fell into an undisturbed and revitalizing slumber.
CHAPTER SIX
Settling in at Pemberley
ELIZABETH AWOKE GROGGILY WITH the bizarre impression of having lost something. For several minutes she experienced total disorientation. She was in an enormous, strange bed with dark c
urtains drawn about. She was alone, and the sensation of emptiness and heartache persisted even though she could not immediately identify the cause. She rubbed her heavy eyes and forced them to remain open. Part of her wanted to retreat back into sleep but the other part, the part that felt uneasy, urged her to wake up. She made herself sit up and, as she did so, her gaze fell on the slight depression in the pillow and mattress next to her. Immediately reality crashed over her consciousness. She knew exactly where she was and the fact that she was alone hit her as an almost physical blow.
“William?” she called, her voice louder than she intended and, to her mild shame, bordering on hysteria. How could she feel so bereft after only two days of waking with his body beside her? Why this sense of panic?
She jumped out of the bed, grabbing her nightgown from the floor where, in their haste, it had been tossed. She pulled it on quickly and had her hand on the doorknob before rationality returned to her clouded mind. It certainly would not do for the Mistress of Pemberley to go dashing through the house in her nightgown!
Calm yourself, Elizabeth! Think! Her first thought was that she was quite cold. William’s robe, the one she had worn last night, was lying over the chair so she put it on. Instantly she felt coherency and calmness wash over her. The combination of warmth and her husband’s scent restored her clarity. She realized suddenly and with acute embarrassment that she was being utterly ridiculous. William would not have left her without good reason. All she need do was to ring, and a servant would appear and tell her what was happening.
She inhaled deeply. Looking at the mantel clock, she noted that it was only a little after seven. William must have arisen early. She walked back to the bed and touched the spot where his head had lain. It was cold. She actually felt tears start in her eyes. Really, Lizzy! she chided herself, what would he think to see you acting the lovesick fool!
Then she noticed the note on the bed stand with her name written in his hand. She collapsed onto the end of the bed and picked it up. I truly am a fool. Of course he would leave me a note!
Mr. & Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy: Two Shall Become One Page 10